Another point of View
by GlenWing
Summary: Everyone knows about Harry Potter's adventures, what his thoughts were. But what about his friends? Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, from Hermiones PoV! enjoy...
1. An owl in the post

Another point of View

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, they sadly all belong to JKR, sniff, sniff

Notes: This is the Philosophers stone from Hermione's point of view. I swear I have tried to follow the book as much as is humanly possible, so any slip ups, please correct me! This is only my second fanfic. Enjoy, and above all read and review. Does sacred review dance known to all authors since the dawn of time

Chapter 1: An owl in the post!

Hermione lay on her bed, reading a book, and listening to the radio in the corner of her room. Something by the Sugarbabes was on at the moment, or at least she thought it was by the Sugarbabes. She never had been able to keep up with modern music. The book she was reading, "The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe", was old, and much fingered. This must be the third time she had read it, and she still enjoyed it.

"Hermione. We're going in five minutes, get ready!"

She closed the book, rolled off her bed and walked over to the big gilt mirror next to her wardrobe. She looked herself up and down critically. School would start again in a few weeks. That would probably mean more rude comments about her bushy hair, immaculate teeth (her parents were dentists), and tendency to answer any question posed by any teacher. She sighed. She couldn't help her parent's profession, her hair was a law unto itself, and well… There was no point being modest about it, she was smart, exceedingly smart as it happened. But there wasn't anything bad about it. It was just that the people at her old school seemed to think of intelligence in the same way that an old man thinks of a snail, something to be crushed.

Hopefully it wouldn't be like that at her new school. She had been invited to take up a place at one of London's top boarding schools. She hadn't liked the idea of it at first, but, after learning a bit more about it, had slowly warmed to it. She had even gone as far as playing with the idea that she might find acceptance there. The kind of social acceptance that every child craves for deep down in the hearts. That was why they were going out that cold, wet, Saturday afternoon: to get her new uniform.

She picked up the hairbrush from her bedside table, and started to half drag it though her unruly curls. She partially succeeded in getting most of the tangles out. She would give it a wash tonight, she decided.

Hermione looked at herself again in the mirror. A small mousy girl looked back. It wasn't as if she was bad looking, and her hair looked a lot less tangled than it had done five minutes ago, if not a bit more frizzy from the friction. She was wearing white tights, a corduroy skirt that hung to her knees and a white long sleeved t-shirt. Fashion, she concluded, was probably her downfall. She never wore anything new, hip, or designer, like the other girls. But then, she had never felt the need to. She didn't really care about what anyone else thought of her, come to think of it.

She sighed again.

That debate over, she opened her wardrobe and picked out her raincoat. It was getting a bit too small for her, but she could always ask for a new one while they were out.

She turned around, found her shoes over by her radio, and just as she was leaving her bedroom, heard a Tap, tap at the window behind her.

Swivelling round quickly she came face to face with the most astonishing sight she had ever seen. An owl was sitting on her windowsill, tapping to get in. A very bedraggled owl it looked to. Its feathers were matted with the rain, and its beak looked like a mini waterfall as the rain dripped off it. It tapped on the window again.

Hermione stared at it until it hooted very loudly, snapping her out of the trance she had been in. After all, it wasn't every day you saw a barn owl on your windowsill in the middle of the London suburbs, especially at three o'clock in the afternoon.

She edged closer to the window, and ever so slowly reached out a hand and undid the catch. She didn't know why she was letting an owl into her bedroom, especially since they were about to go out. But it just felt like the right thing to do.

The owl clicked its beak, and hopped inside, swooping off the sill, and landing on one of her bedposts, dripping rain onto her coverlet. Hermione shut the window quickly, as her carpet was getting spattered with water, and turned to face the owl. She had only just realised that it had what looked like a letter tied to its front foot.

"What on God's green earth are you doing here?" She said, to no one in particular.

Her normally acute mind was still trying to catch up. I'm living in a house in the suburbs of London, she thought, it is three o'clock in the afternoon, of Saturday the 8th of February. And an owl has just turned up on my windowsill. For some reason she didn't feel as strange as she felt a person in her position should do.

The owl stuck out its foot, and waited. Slowly, and without thinking (unusual for Hermione) she reached out her hand and took the letter from its outstretched limb. Unburdened of its cargo, the owl flew over to the desk on the other side of her room, and sat there preening itself, eyeing her beadily.

Hermione looked at the letter in her shaking hand. It was made of some sort of yellowish parchment, heavy, and very thick. It was addressed very clearly to:

Miss Hermione Granger

The Smaller Bedroom

45 Copperfield Avenue

Richmond upon Thames

London

The smaller bedroom? How on earth did they know that? This was starting to get very strange. Though not as strange, of course, as having an owl turn up at your house delivering mail at three in the afternoon. Who used owls to carry mail, anyway?

"Hermione, are you ready? We're going now!"

"Ok mum."

She made a split second decision not to tell her parents just yet, tucked to letter underneath her pillow, and walked over to the owl.

"I'm afraid I can't let you out just yet," she said apologetically, "I need you as evidence that I am not loosing my marbles."

She picked up a glass off the desk, went to the bathroom and filled it up with water, and went back to her room.

"There." Said her inner RSPCA officer. "That's for if you get thirsty."

The owl hooted softly at her, as if in thanks, and dipped its beak briefly in the glass. Satisfied, she walked over to her door, quietly opened it, and quietly shut it, so as not to scare the bird. And walked downstairs to join her waiting parents.

Standing in the hall it seemed to her that she had handled the situation very well considering the circumstances. And it was not until she was in the car that she realised something. That owl had been soaked when it came inside, but the letter had, to her knowledge, been as dry as a bone.

Strange, she mused, as her mother turned the car right, toward the shopping centre, very strange.


	2. Explanations

Disclaimer: Oh do I have to…Ok, Jk Rowling owns everything. There, you happy now?

NB; I don't actually know how Hermione or her parents felt about Hogwarts etc… at the beginning, apart from a few sentences on the train. So this is my interpretation of how I feel it went.

Chapter 2: Explanations

They had finished shopping by six; and her new uniform was something to behold. A dark green velvet blazer and skirt, white blouses and a type of high-heeled shoe that looked like something out of a Japanese museum. They had to buy spares of virtually everything except the blazer, and her mother nearly fainted when she saw the bill, and was somewhat reluctant to hand over her credit card. In the end she still got a receipt from person on the counter, "Just in case." She said, just a little hopefully.

When they had finally finished, they sat down and had some hot chocolate in a little shop opposite Marks and Spencer. It was nice, but Hermione hurried hers slightly, as she was quite desperate to get home and read that letter. But she still had that problem of how to tell her parents of the strange experience she had had that afternoon. I mean you could hardly just drop it into conversation; oh, by the way, an owl was sent earlier today with a letter addressed to me, pass the salt would you. No, she would have to be sly. The problem was she wasn't exactly sure how to be.

The journey home was quiet enough, her mother was still in shock from the bill, and her father had quite sensitive teeth, so the hot chocolate hadn't really helped matters. He was still letting out the occasional whimper in the front seat. Quite ironic really, when she thought about it, a dentist with toothache. Someone out there had clearly got their numbers jumbled up.

When they got home and had taken off their shoes and coats, she turned around and faced them. There was nothing for it she thought, lets just be blunt, I never was good at the whole "sly" thing anyway. She took a deep breath.

"Mum, dad." She started.

"What is it honey?"

"There's something I think I need to show you." There, that was easy enough. "Now for the tough bit." She said to herself.

"What is it Hermione?" The use of her first name, and the new tone in her parent's voices, suggested concern.

"Erm…Perhaps you better come upstairs and sit down."

Her parents looked at eachother. It was that special look parents like to reserve for very special occasions, generally when both adults feel something big is about to hit them like a ton of bricks. This didn't happen a lot with Hermione as a daughter, but even she had her moments. Back in first school, a seven year old Hermione had been involved in a rather embarrassing/befuddling incident. No one was entirely sure how Mr Goudie had hung himself from the rafters by his sporran, and Hermione had been the only one in the room. Thankfully things like this didn't happen very often.

They followed Hermione upstairs and across the landing to her bedroom, and stopped outside the door. Hermione turned around.

"Before you go in, can I just ask you to be very quiet. You probably won't scare it. But you never can tell with animals."

"What do you mean animals?" Asked her mother, nervousness edging her voice.

"Just promise me you'll let me explain everything before you make a fuss."

"Ok." Her parents replied, giving eachother, Hermione and the bedroom door worried glances.

Looking satisfied, and feeling a bit braver, Hermione opened her bedroom door and stepped through; her parents followed her with a slight feeling of trepidation. And the sight they were met with didn't disappoint. Hermione was sitting on her bedspread, with a slightly ruffled, but otherwise very good looking barn owl on her shoulder.

"Surprise." Said Hermione, in a small voice.

"Hermione…" Started her father angrily. He had a particular dislike of birds

"Dad, you promised me that you'd let me explain everything before you said anything. So sit down and I'll explain." This came out so quickly and so maturely that her father didn't have much time to react.

"But…" He stuttered, slightly flustered at being ordered around by his daughter.

"Dad, please, sit down and I will explain everything, I promise."

"We did promise dear." Said her mother, but even she gave the owl a very doubtful look.

When they had both pulled up chairs, she took a deep breath, and told them exactly what had happened that afternoon before the shopping trip. No detail was left out. And when she reached the end she looked up from her lap to find both her parents staring at her as though she had been speaking a foreign language. Even her mother's normally demure expression had turned to one that resembled a goldfish struggling for air.

"So." She said, a little unsure of her parent's reaction. "That's what happened."

"I see." Said her mother, her normal neutral tones and looks coming back very quickly. "Would you mind if I see the letter."

Hermione reached under her pillow and pulled out the yellow parchment envelope. She passed it to her mother, who studied it for a second, then passed it to her father, who also studied it, who then passed it back to Hermione. His hand shaking somewhat, and giving the owl a rather suspicious glance.

"So, the owl was sent from somewhere with this tied to its leg." He said after a while.

"Yes." She said. Not really knowing what else to say.

"So who do you know who sends letters via owls."

"No one." She said feeling a little sheepish.

"Well if I were you I'd open it then," he said, "I don't know about you, but I'm more that a bit curious about what it says."

Hermione looked down at the envelope, at the address in green ink, a very, very, precise address. She turned it over and found a wax seal on the front, a coat of arms.

"Must be from somewhere important, it's got a coat of arms on it. I don't recognise it though."

"Who cares, just open it." Her father exclaimed, his voice tinted with an edge of excitement.

Careful not to break the seal, as it was really quite pretty, she peeled away the wax, and opened the envelope. Inside were a set of parchments, and a slightly smaller envelope. She took that one out.

"Look, its addressed to you." She said.

"What." Said both her parents.

"Look, Mr and Mrs Granger, The Smaller Bedroom, 45 Copperfield Avenue, Richmond upon Thames, London."

Her mother took the envelope; both she and her husband stared at it. They opened it, and read the first few lines, then stared at eachother again. They read the rest of the letter quickly. And by the time they had both finished her mothers face looked like a goldfish again, and her fathers eyes looked like they were ready to pop out of their sockets.

There was silence for a while.

"I think we're going to go downstairs and finish reading this alone." Said her father, quietly. "Give you the time to read yours thoroughly."

As her parents left the room, Hermione lay back on her bed and wandered why her parents looked a little worried when they had left. On the upside, she mused to herself; they took the news about the owl quite well.

She looked at the envelope again, and opened it for a second time. Taking out the two sheaves of parchment inside she looked at the first one, written in the same green ink as the address on the envelope. It read something like this:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards.)

Dear Miss Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

We await your owl?

"Well at least that explains why you haven't left yet." She said, directing it at the bird on her shoulder, it still hadn't moved.

Then she realised exactly what she had just read. She read it again, and again. What? Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! This can't be right, it was a hoax, it had to be. Didn't it? But there was that nagging thought at the back of her head that said it wasn't. That it was as real as day. But she couldn't believe it, could she?

There was a knock at the door, and her mother slid in.

"How are you?" She said quietly.

"Fine." She said, and in a way she meant it. Everything seemed to falling into place now. Everything strange that had ever happened to her. It was kind of comforting in a way; at least she wasn't going mad.

"So what was in that letter?" Her mum asked. Hermione showed her.

"Pretty much the same as ours then." Her mum said, "Ours started off like that, then it said a few other things, and gave us directions to where, apparently, we can get your new school things."

"School things." Said Hermione, looking up at her mother, "You mean you believe what it said in the letter."

"Yes, strangely enough. It all seemed to slot into place. It took some time to get used to the idea, but, like I said, the letter sorted everything out for us."

"What do you mean, sorted it all out for you?"

"That, my dear girl is a secret." Said her mother. "But it also means that tomorrow we are going out to return your school things that we bought today, and go and get you some new ones. Thank God I kept that receipt."

Her mum actually sounded quite happy.

"Don't you think we should go and see if where I'm meant to get my new school stuff actually exists first." Hermione asked.

"You're probably right." Mused her mother, "Yes, I think we might do that, just to be on the safe side." She got up, and dusted of her dress, and just as she was walking out Hermione called her back.

"Mum, does this mean I'm a witch?" She asked timidly.

"Yes, I think it does." Replied her mother, and left.

Hermione lay back on her bed, and thought for a second. What had happened in the short space of an hour would probably change her life. It was still weird though.

"Hermione Granger, Witch." She tested it out on her tongue. It sounded quite good, in a way.

This, she decided as she rolled off her bed and onto her feet, was going to be very exciting, very exciting indeed. And as she exited the room, there was just an inkling of a small smile on her lips.

Thanx lunar Luna for bein my first ever non-friend reviewer, and smegginitlarge for being my ever faithful reviewing oompa loompa!


	3. Diagon Alley

Disclaimer: You know the story…I don't own anything…

Review Reply NICE goudox bashing!  
Probably should explain in ur next chapter who the heck he is to (all) your devoted reader(s), and why that sentence is so funny i spat grape and apricot drink all over my keyboard. kay?  
.x.Sess.x.  
Ps ive written a draco one (go me!) so review it! once i've, y'know, posted it...

Ok. The reason this Sian finds this so funny is because her music teacher is also called Mr Goudie (coincidence, I think not!) and he has made her musical life hell through the past four years. He is evil, can't sing (but oh how he tries) and can't play anything except overly jazzed piano pieces. He is the metaphorical boil on the buttocks of humanity! Well theirs my rant over. I made the comment to keep Sian happy with me and it succeeded Inserts manic laughter here

Oh, and I'm splitting this chapter in two, coz otherwise it is going to be huge. K. The dream at the beginning is meant to be a nice bit of foreshadowing.

Enjoy and Review…plz!

Chapter Three: Diagon Ally

_She was walking down a long tunnel. Darkness surrounded her, closing in, suffocating her. It was a choking, black mass, writhing all around like clouds in a storm. A faint, far off light appeared, flaring up in defiance of the empty, black, space screaming silently at her. Pain was piercing her like shards of ice, shattering against her skin. She ran, toward the light, always towards the light._

In her bed Hermione turned under her quilt, her mind in turmoil. This was an old nightmare. Sweat beaded her brow, and her mouth opened slightly, as if letting out a silent cry of…

…_Help! She was still running. The light was getting nearer. She could almost feel it on her face. Driving away the pain. Nearly there, got to keep running. If she could just reach out, her fingers fought off the night, groping for the promise of the warmth the light would bring…_

A small smile bloomed on Hermione's lips as she slept, replacing the look of abject terror that had proceeded it. Even though still trapped by the confines of sleep, she radiated a small amount of…

…_Contentment. The light surrounded her, warming her, and driving away the fears of her old nightmare. She was free of it. She stretched, feeling the icy pain ebb away. Suddenly a large shadow erupted in front of her. Its sheer size drove her back. She tripped and fell down. The old fear started to consume her once more. Then she heard voices. Two boys, she thought, and they were shouting at the shade looming over her._

"_Oy, pea brain!" One shouted._

"_Come on, run, run!" Yelled the other_

_The last voice seemed to be directed at her._

_The shape faltered, looking around, and raised a grey limb, as if to smite the bearers of the voices. Hermione heard strange words cried, and saw a flash of white light. Then the picture faded. Everything faded, slowly, while echoes of the two voices still lingered on. _

"_Come on…"_

"Come on. Hermione, we're going to be late if you don't get out of bed."

Her mother's voice brought her out of sleep and into reality. She opened her eyes, confirming where she was. The ceiling, table, desk, mirror, they were all where they should be. Her dream forgotten, she rolled out of bed. Her alarm clock marked it as quarter past nine. Walking over to the bedroom door, she unhooked her dressing gown and staggered slightly down the stairs, the carpet soothing her bare feet. The kitchen was full of bustle. Her mum was at the hob, cooking some bacon and eggs, and her father was hunting for plates in the small cupboard in the corner.

"There you are dear." Said her father, as he emerged from the cupboard bearing three immaculate plates.

"What's all the fuss about?" Hermione asked, yawning, as she sat down in a chair, to be served with her usual quota of scrambled egg and crispy bacon.

"We're going shopping for your new school stuff." Replied her mother. "Remember the letter, from yesterday."

Memories flooded back to her; the letter, Hogwarts, witches. "Oh, that." Was the best that she could muster. She had forgotten all about it. _How could I have forgotten about all that?_

Breakfast was a hurried affair, and quite a silent one too. A strange sense of anticipation seemed to hang around the table and its occupants. When they had finished, her mum and dad, who were already washed and dressed, stacked the plates and started to wash and wipe up. Hermione walked up stairs, and ran herself a nice, long shower, full of steam, suds, and the wonderful smells of radox herbal. By the time she had got out it was half past ten. But she was significantly more alert than she had been previously. She dressed, and started to brush her hair, she new she was fighting a loosing battle, but she persevered. _Maybe I won't have to this anymore when I'm a witch._ She thought. _I wonder if there's some sort of anti-frizz spell that I could use. _That really would save buying the head and shoulders.

In about ten more minutes the family was mustered in the front porch. Her father locked the door, and pushed the button on his keys that unlocked their car, mumbling something like, "Can't believe I'm actually doing this." Making sure that everyone had their seat belts on, he started the engine, reversed out of the driveway. And as he took the road that lead toward central London the familiar silence settled. Hermione remembered a similar journey the day before; when nothing stranger than an owl had happened to her._ Nothing stranger than an owl!_

"So what is it we need to be buying then." Said her mother, breaking the awkward silence.

Hermione took out the envelope again, glad that she had brought it, and pulled out the second piece of parchment inside. She read it aloud.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Uniform

First-year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.

Set Books

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Herbs and Fungi by Phyllidia Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

Other Equipment

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set of glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring either an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

"Well," Said her father, finally making an appearance in the conversation, "that was a list and no mistake."

"Yes, indeedy." Said her mother. "Looks like we'll need to get some money out, I can't imagine that they take credit cards."

They had entered the city by now, and were now circling the various roads, back streets and sidewalks that make up the vast industrial jungle. Her dad finally spotted a bank, and, after finding a parking space, quickly hopped out with her mother. When they had returned to the car something occurred to Hermione.

"Mum, do wizards use the same money as us?"

"According to the letter we got no. That's why we got some out. Apparently they have some form of bank where we're going, so we can exchange some of our money there."

"And where exactly are we going? You still haven't told me."

There was a rustle of parchment in the front, apparently her parents had also brought their letters along this morning as well.

"Erm, I'm not sure how to pronounce it, Diagon Alley, it says here."

"What a strange name for a place. Is that where we're meant to get all of my school stuff from then?"

"Yes dear. Now if you could be a bit quieter, I need to give your father some directions. Apparently this place can be rather hard to find. Look out for an old pub called…" another rustle of parchments, "The Leaky Cauldron. It says here that only wizards and their immediate families can see it."

"Riiiighht." Said Hermione; sounding a little disbelieving that any self-respecting wizard would call a pub "The Leaky Cauldron", what kind of image did that present?

Ten minutes later they were still circling London's streets. And Hermione was sure that they were going round the same way. She hadn't seen any site of "The Leaky Cauldron" or anything remotely wizard-like. And the excitement that she had felt at breakfast this morning, about going to what she imagined to be the magical equivalent of a shopping centre, was starting to wear off.

"What's the time mum." She asked, trying not to let her slight sense of boredom enter her voice.

"Twelve forty five." Said her mother. "Stephen, are you sure this is where we're meant to be, you didn't take a wrong turning back there?"

"No I didn't, and even if I did, I distinctly remember you on the verge of grabbing the steering wheel trying to get me to go this way by force. And you were giving out the directions, so put that in your pipe and smoke it."

There was silence for the next couple of minutes, as Hermione's father took a left turn out of desperation. They were driving down a small high street when Hermione saw it. A dingy pub right in between a large book shop and equally sized record store. But they were driving too fast, her parents hadn't seen it, and, at the rate the navigation was going in this car, they might never see this part of London again. Hermione did the only thing she could. She sucked in all the air her lungs could take, and bawled at the top of her voice…

"I CAN SEE THE PUB!"

Then everything seemed to happen at once.

Her mother jumped so hard her head nearly went through the roof of the car, her father bellowed "Bloody Hell!" and seemed to simultaneously slam down his foot on the brakes and hit the accelerator. As he did this he managed to launch himself forward and shout yet more words that are not fit to print. This equalled the entire car shooting forward and stopping so suddenly it's a wonder that all the occupants didn't suffer from whiplash. They all sat there in silence for a second; her father breathing hard as though he had run a marathon, her mother looked shell-shocked. Hermione just sat there, making silent thanks to whatever deities that may have been watching them, that the car didn't overturn.

A minute later, when they had all sufficiently recovered, her mother decided to yet again break the silence. "I vote that Hermione never does that again."

"Seconded." Exclaimed her father in between gasps.

"Motion passed." Replied Hermione. "Please duck tape me if we ever make this journey again."

"Don't mention "again" to me, I can't handle the future tense right now."

"Sorry."

Ten minutes later the Granger family stepped over the thresh hold of The Leaky Cauldron. Hermione's first impression was that it was very dingy. There were cobwebs in the corners and on the rafters, and there were some very shifty looking people sitting a various tables around the bar. The bar itself, however, was spotless. Its gleaming counter top smelled of polish and something like disinfectant. As they walked up to it, a bald man with a head like a wrinkled walnut turned to meet them.

"Hello there." He said with a smile. He seemed genuinely very cheerful. "And what can I be doing for you?"

"Err," said her father, taken aback by his friendly manner (her parents didn't visit pubs often). "We're here to get my daughter's school things." He sounded slightly doubtful.

"You'll be muggles then?" Asked the barman.

"Excuse me?" Said her father, who seemed to have taken over the conversation.

"Sorry." Apologised the barman. "Non-magic folk."

"Yes, my daughter got a letter." A rustle of parchments echoed once more from his pockets. "Hogwarts it says here." He handed the letter to the barman, who glanced at them briefly.

"Ahh, yes." He said, "Hogwarts. Went there me'self, years ago. Follow me if you will, my names Tom if you will."

He shuffled out from behind the bar, calling as he went to a boy in his late teens who was wiping glasses in a far corner. "Oy Tom! Look after the bar for a sec." The boy raised his hand in reply and carried on wiping glasses.

Tom took them out to the back of the pub, to a small walled courtyard, a few dustbins were gathered in a corner, and weeds scattered the floor. But Hermione couldn't see any sign of anything remotely magical. In fact she had a horrible feeling that they were all about to be concussed, flung in one of those bins, which, come to think of it did look rather shifty. And mugged. They would probably come to in a gutter tomorrow, robbed of all worldly belongings…_Stop it! Your getting carried away. _She told herself.

But within seconds all her fears were allayed. Tom took out some sort of stick from his pocket, _A wand._ She thought, her excitement renewed. And proceeded to tap three bricks on the wall. Then she witnessed her first bit of magic. When the man had tapped the three bricks the wall seemed to, _No! It couldn't be. _The wall was folding outwards, forming an archway to a bustling street.

"This," said Tom, "Is Diagon alley." He spread his arm toward the busy street. "You'll be wanting to go to Gringotts first, the wizards bank. If you follow the street you'll come to it, right up the end there. Everything else is somewhere to either side. Ask someone if you get lost, we're always willing to help new customers here." He winked and turned away, walking back toward his pub. The archway closed behind him.

"Well," said Hermione, "I guess the letter was telling the truth." She looked around at her parents, standing on either side of her, but they were just standing there, their mouths working furiously, trying to take in this wonderful site.

"I don't think I've ever seen anything so…" Said her mother, not quite able to conjure the right word.

"Fantastic?" Supplied her father.

"Amazing." Replied her mother.

"Come on." Shouted Hermione, pulling them along the street by their sleeves, "Tom said the bank was up here. Come on!" Her excitement was obviously bubbling over, and her parents quickly snapped out of the almost drunken stupor, and half walked, half staggered along Diagon Alley, staring and making noises of wonderment and disbelief as they took in each new sight and sound and smell.

_Things are definitely looking up._ Hermione thought.


	4. Diagon Alley pt 2

Chapter 4: Diagon Alley pt 2

Every sight and every smell held new wonders for Hermione and her parents. They passed stores, stalls, and shops that a few weeks ago they wouldn't have even dreamed existed. Windows held displays of robes in every shade, indeed even a few that seemed to change colour every few seconds. Pointed hats were piled on stands, and cloaks of wool, silk, and even one made of tiny feathers were draped over manikins. Joke shops full of gleeful and laughing children. And a dark shop from which came a very soft hooting noise, _Owls._ Thought Hermione, as she saw the sign above the door. Then she saw, at the end of the street, what must be the shop that Tom had described to them. It was huge, towering over all the nearby shops.

_Gringotts._

It was made of ice white marble, fluted columns stood tall and imposing around the entrance, and a huge door of burnished bronze guarded the entrance. Then they stopped. They had all noticed the small, green creature next to the oversized doors. It was wearing a scarlet and gold uniform, and had a calculating, mischievous stare.

"Is that a…?" Whispered her mother.

"I don't know dear." Said her father.

Hermione, not wanting to waste a precious moment of this visit, took hold of her parent's sleeves and led them toward the doors, and the creature.

"Good morning sir, Madam." Said the creature doffing its hat quickly. "Welcome to Gringotts." Its voice was oddly haggard, almost like that of an old man.

"If I didn't know better," Said her father when they had passed it, "Then I'd think that was a Goblin."

"Anything's possible." Replied her mother. But even she didn't look too happy at the prospect of Goblins in such close proximity. Hermione was suddenly regretting very hard that she couldn't remember many of the fairytales told to her when she was younger.

When they had passed the Bronze gates they almost immediately came to another set of silver ones, with strange words engraved on them. But she hadn't so much as glanced at them when a pair of the "Goblins" had bowed them through those doors, and into the biggest, and most unusual bank in the world.

"Wow!" Exclaimed her father under his breath. "When wizards go for the finishing touch they don't skimp on the paint work eh?" He waited for an answer but the rest of the party had been struck speechless. He sighed, leading them down the hall. There were huge desks to either side of them, made, seemingly, to make the average customer feel small and intimidated. And behind each one was a Goblin. Some talking to people she assumed were fellow wizards and witches, scribbling down notes or bending down to listen to a whispered transaction. Some sat with balances or scales, weighing bronze, silver of gold coins. Some even examining gems as large as her hands with tiny ocular lenses. Their subjects glimmering as the light of a thousand candles reflected off them shining skins. People's footsteps clattered on the marbled floor, and numerous doors and archways lead off from the main hall into darkness.

Hermione and her parents walked up to a free goblin, her father coughed, and the goblin looked up sharply, treating them all to a sharp glance.

"Yes, what is it?" He said, in an almost irritated voice.

"Umm, well that's it we're not sure." Stammered her father. "Our daughter has just been accepted into this school…"

"Hogwarts?" Interjected the Goblin.

"Yes, that one. Now…"

"Are you a magical family?" Interrupted the Goblin again.

"No." Said her father, obviously slightly miffed that he kept being stopped.

"You'll be wanting to exchange some money then? Or to open an account?"

"Err…exchange I think, yes, exchange." He looked at his wife who nodded. "How much do you think she would need?"

"In your money I suspect around £200, that will leave you with some spending money on top of the usual supplies."

"Ok." Said her father, quite glad that the transaction was going to be over so soon. He handed over the notes with little reluctance, and after the Goblin had checked and written down the amount together with their names, address and shoe sizes down in its book, he dropped down from view. After about ten minutes he reappeared with a large pouch jingling merrily in his hand, the Goblin slid this across the desk, and her father hastily pocketed it, murmuring thanks.

"No problem sir." Said the Goblin, his voice dripping sarcasm, "Have a nice day."

When they were back in fresh air again the whole family breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well for our first Goblin encounter I don't think we did too badly." Said her father. Her mother gave her husband a rye smile. Hermione looked around.

"So where do you want to go first?" She asked, sweeping her arm at the bustling street.

"What does it say first on your list?" Asked her mother.

"Uniform." Replied Hermione.

"Well lets try and find a clothes shop then." Said her mother. They set off. It turned out that everything here was quite accessible, all the shops had notices or boards above their doors or windows, telling the unwary visitor what to expect inside. And the few that didn't tended to have displays outside or in the windows that were so self-explanatory that it was clear even to Hermione and her parents what was inside.

They soon came to tidy looking shop with purple curtains and various stands in the two large bay windows, depicting what Hermione imagined to be the latest line in witch and wizard fashion. Robes, cloaks, dresses and suits all draped artfully over wooden manikins. A large glossy sign over the thresh hold labelled it as "Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions".

"This looks promising." Said her mother, nodding approvingly at some of the clothes on display. "Come on, lets not wait for the grass to grow." And she dragged Hermione and her father inside. The interior of the shop was quite nice; more manikins were placed here and there, together with lots of racks with even more clothes. A deep purple plush carpet covered the floor, and various mirrors and a few squashy armchairs were dotted here and there. A small bell rang over the door as they entered, and a small bustling woman that Hermione could only place as Madam Malkin appeared from nowhere.

"Hello my dears." She said in a cheery voice that warmed Hermione to her straight away. "And what can I do for you today."

"Err, I need a uniform." Said Hermione. "For school."

"Hogwarts?" Enquired Madam Malkin.

"Yes." Said Hermione.

"Good, good." Replied Madam Malkin. "If you'll just come over here next to the mirror and I'll take your sizes." She brought Hermione over to a large gilt mirror and produced a large tape measure from her pocket. As she took Hermione's measurements she talked in an off hand fashion. "Are you from a wizard Family?"

"No." Said Hermione. "I didn't know about any of this until a few days ago."

"Oh that's a shame." Said Madam Malkin, now taking her ankle size, "Still I imagine its all a bit of an adventure, looking forward to school?"

"Oh yes." Said Hermione, "I can't wait to start learning about magic though." This came with a bit more enthusiasm.

"That's good to hear." Said the woman absent-mindedly. "Right, try these on for size." She dropped a large black robe on Hermione's shoulders and began pinning it into place. When she had got them properly adjusted she gave the robes a wave with her wand, and the seemed to shrink to that size. "That's better." She said, picking up the pins. She then went over to one of the racks, and sorted out a couple of jumpers, shirts, blouses and ties. They added to these a nice cloak, some dragon hide gloves, and a pointed hat, which Madam Malkin said nobody ever wore but it was nice to have anyway.

"That'll be 34 galleons and 10 sickles dears." Said Madam Malkin. Her father looked in the cloth bag from the bank, and chose that moments to remember that the Goblins hadn't actually told him what coins were which.

"Erm, I don't suppose you could give us a hand could you?" He said rather sheepishly. "I'm not sure which are coins are, well, which."

"Oh my, you have been to Gringotts haven't you?" She actually looked concerned.

"Yes we've just come from there." Volunteered Hermione.

"Didn't the Goblins tell you what the coins were?" She frowned, "They've been being very slack bout doing that of late." She gave them a kind look, "Ok dears, you see those little bronze coins, their called Knuts, they're the smallest form of currency."

"Oh, like a one or two pence piece." Said Hermione. Madam Malkin gave her a strange look. "Normal money." Muttered Hermione sullenly.

"Yes, well, as I was saying. There are 29 Knuts to a Sickle, those are the silver ones, they're worth much more." She looked at Hermione, almost daring her to say something about muggle money. "And then there's the big gold ones, they're called Galleons. There are 17 Sickles to a Galleon, which is the same as 493 Knuts." She looked at them, and they stared blankly back at her. Hermione took the initiative.

"So the gold ones are worth 17 silver ones, which are worth 29 of the bronze ones."

"That's it dear." Said Madam Malkin, letting out a sigh of relief. "Those Goblins, they'll do themselves no good not telling people what's worth what." She went on in this vein for a while, muttering to herself about "idiots" and "ruining the economy", as she helped her father count out the money for their purchases.

They eventually left the shop, a little wiser as far as the currency went, and headed out into Diagon alley once more. They worked their way down the busy street, glancing at the shops to either side, occasionally stopping to examine interesting shop window displays. The soon found a book shop, "Flourish and Blotts" that looked like it was doing good business. They went inside and stood with looks of amazement on their faces. They had never seen such a variety of books in their lives, even Hermione, who was a good customer at most of the local bookshops around their house, had never seen anything like it. There were tomes of every colour stretching from wall to wall. Books the size of paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk. Books that looked like they were written in hieroglyphics, or even Nordic runes. Books with covers that changed design depending on the person holding it. And even a few that seemed to be talking to random passers by. Indeed her father, when looking for her "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them", jumped suddenly when hailed from the topmost shelf with a cry of:

"Your wig ran the other way baldy!"

Her father was rather taken aback at this, as he was neither bald nor in the possession of a wig, indeed he even complained about it to Mr Flourish at the counter. Who, taking a quick look at the offending tome, told her father not to worry, that it was a book of classroom jokes, and had simply needed to let off steam. Her father had given him a very blank look, and Mr Flourish had given him a sigh, and gone over the bookshelf and given the book in question a sharp poke, and told it not to do it again.

They had come out of "Flourish and Blotts" with slightly more than they had entered wanting. Hermione's mother had suggested that she buy a few extra books to learn some more about wizard culture. So they had found a good many books at a reasonable price, which her father was now carrying. Or attempting to. One of them, a large leather volume called "The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts" kept shouting at him to turn it over, that the "inferior" version of "A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi" was digging into its spine. Its no wonder that by the time they had got into the car at the end of the day, he had, by the look of it, actually taken it into a corner and given it a good talking to. As it didn't say a word for the rest of the journey.

Next they visited a small shop called "Kettledrum's Cauldron supplies" and bought a nice pewter cauldron, and a set of brass scales. The man at the counter did try to flog them a jewel-encrusted cauldron for the "very reasonable" price of 100 galleons. Her father had a short, whispered conversation with him too; the assistant walked away very quickly. Her father was starting to look a little stressed by this point. _Maybe its all the fresh air._ Hermione thought_, He doesn't get much in that dusty dentists. _

After this incident the manager of the shop had suggested they should go and get Hermione a supply of a few basic potion ingredients. And had given them a shiny coupon for some free Harpy claws with every purchase. They had found the apothecary with few problems; all you had to do was follow the smell of over boiled cabbage that seemed to emanate from the place. It was very fascinating though. While her parents were at the counter, swapping coupons and ordering some basic ingredients, it turned out her father was surprisingly good at haggling; Hermione spent her time wandering through the shelves of the store. Eyeing all the rare, strange and exotic ingredients that she could be using in a few years time. Apart from the Hobs toenails, she didn't relish the thought of even being in a 3-meter radius of those.

Grateful to be out in the fresh, odourless air once more. All laden with bags bulging with beetles eyes, newts tongues, and the promised Harpy claws, which still seemed to secrete a shiny substance that the apothecary had warned them not to touch, but to wash off every time they saw it. Her mother had also managed to procure her a set of rather handsome crystal phials, together with a stand to put them in. They were now wrapped in tissue paper in one of the bags that her father was gingerly carrying.

"So." Said her mother in a cheerful voice, she was thoroughly enjoying herself, "What's next on your list, there can't be much more now." And she was right, there wasn't. Within another five minutes they were back in the same spot, carrying a collapsible brass telescope. This was sold to them in a shop that seemed to have a ceiling that permanently mapped the stars and planets in the night sky, despite the fact that it was five past three in the afternoon.

"Last on the list is a wand." Said Hermione. This was the purchase she was most looking forward to making. The thought of owning such a powerful magical item sent thrills down her body. She had already seen some magic: Tom opening the door into Diagon Alley, and Madam Malkin shrinking her robes. And that had only furthered her desire to find the shop that sold these fabulous artefacts.

They wandered down the street, looking out for any shop that hinted that it sold wands. But there were none. They were just giving up hope of ever finding such a place, when her mother made a sudden yelping noise, and grabbed Hermione's arm, pointing towards a dusty shop further down the street. "Ollivanders" heralded the sign above the window, "Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 Bc."

"Looks very promising." Agreed her father, as they all walked toward the shop in question. It didn't look very busy, and its windows were definitely not as exciting as other ones they had seen. A single wand lay on a faded velvet cushion, but apart from that it was empty. And there were no other customers as far as any of them could see.

Hermione opened the shop door, and a small bell tinkled. They walked in, the air was full of dust, which sparkled and danced as it hit shafts of light from the windows. There was a musty smell that seemed to emanate from the shelves. And a feeling of power: subtle, silky and ancient seemed to seep through the woodwork, even into the air itself. And the silence, it was almost intimidating, it was deep and dark, and even the sounds from the bustling street outside seemed to deaden inside this shop. The whole shop was almost full of shelves, little networks of paths formed between them. And each shelf was stacked full of boxes. The small customer area was bare of ornamentation, apart from a small spindly chair and an old wooden counter and till. And throughout the entire shop there didn't seem to be any sight or sound of life anywhere

A sudden sound of footsteps, and a smallish man, with frizzy white hair, and dressed in ancient velvet robes appeared from between to shelves. This made them all jump, as none of them had heard him coming, despite the silence of his shop.

"Good Morning." He said, in slightly misty, if not ethereal tones. "And how may I be of service to you today? I take it that you have come to make the purchase of a wand?"

"Yes." Said Hermione. A slight edge of nervousness now pervaded her voice.

"Then step forward dear child." Said the man, pulling a tape measure from his pocket. "I just need to take some measurements." He promptly tapped the tape with his wand, and it leapt through the air, and started taking a few lengths. "Hold out your wand arm." Said Mr Ollivander, as the tape measure jabbed her in the elbow. When it had finished, it leapt back to Mr Ollivander's hand, and he looked at it for a second, as if looking though what it had just recorded. He then scuttled off through the maze of shelves without a word.

"Strange man isn't he." She said to her parents, feeling a bit put out that the process had taken such little time.

They were about to give up hope of him ever emerging from the shelves, when suddenly he made an appearance from the nearest "alley". He was carrying several long, thin boxes in his arms, and at the site of these Hermione's heart leapt. He set them down on a spindly chair, that he had taken from its place near the door, and the motioned to Hermione to listen carefully.

"Every Ollivander wand, my dear, is individual. You will never find the same combination of woods, carvings, or cores in any other wizard's wand. We at Ollivanders use three powerful magical cores for our wands; these are unicorn tail hair, dragon heartstrings, and the tail feathers from a phoenix." As he said this he took the top box from the small pile, and opened it slowly. "Now Miss Granger," Hermione didn't bother to ask how she knew her name, and lust listened, giving the strange old man her full and undivided attention. "When I give you the wand, I want you to give it a small wave. If the wand chooses you, then this should give the desirable results."

"Chooses her?" Said her father.

"Yes, it's the wand that chooses the wizard Mr Granger, not visa-versa. No one knows how. I personally like to think of it as a special connection between the individual powers of the wand and the individual powers of the wizard. But, be that as it may. Back to business."

He took the first wand out of the box. It was made of a dark wood, polished to a bright sheen, and had a serpent carved, wriggling, down its length.

"Ebony and Unicorn tail hair, 10 and a half inches, pliable. Try it out."

Hermione, feeling a little self-conscious, waved the wand in a little circle in the air, they waited a few seconds, but nothing happened. And within instants Mr Ollivander had whisked it out of her hand and replaced it in it's box, and within another few seconds had another one in his hand.

"Teak and Dragon heartstrings, 8 inches. Quite inflexible, could be a bit temperamental, try it out, go on."

She tried, and when nothing happened again, that was again whipped out of her hand and replaced in its box. The next one came and went in much the same manner. But when the fourth one came out, and was put into her hand, it felt somehow different.

"Vine wood and Unicorn tail hair, 13 and a half inches, nice amount of power, give it a go."

As soon as Hermione's fingers touched the smooth wood, she felt a tingling in her fingers. It was like a presence was reaching out to her, touching her inside, her soul. Then she felt a sharp tug, like someone, or something was pulling her toward it. She raised her arm, and swiped the wand in front of her. Almost immediately a jet of pink and silver sparks shot from the end of it, creating a hissing sound in the air as they passed.

"Oh excellent! Yes, I must say that is a fine wand, beautiful carvings on it. Made by my father I believe. Yes, fine wand."

Hermione's hand absentmindedly stroked the wand; the carvings on it were beautiful. As if to fit the wood it was made from, they depicted crawling vines, travelling up the wand's surface. It was like a work of art. And holding it made her feel like she had just regained something dear, that she had lost a long time ago. Mr Ollivander looked at her.

"Yes," He half whispered to himself, "The connection has been made. But will it hold, in these uncertain times, who can tell?"

"Excuse me?" Said Hermione, having heard him mumble something.

"Nothing dear," he said distantly, as if he wasn't all there, "That will be 8 Galleons and 2 sickles."

They paid, and left the shop, feeling a bit more nervous that when they had entered.

"Well," Said her mother, "Was that the last thing?"

"Yep." Said Hermione, with a joint feeling of relief and regret. "That was the last thing." She was carrying her wand, in a bag by her side. Somehow it didn't feel right to be without it now she had got it.

"Well that looks like its an ice cream shop." Said her mother, pointing to a bright and airy establishment, with a large flamboyant sigh proclaiming it as "Florean Fortescue's Parlour". They crossed the street and entered. They had never seen such a selection before. But they finally made their orders, sitting down outside in the street to eat them. Hermione finished off hers, Mint and Raspberry Mountain with hazelnuts, and waited for her parents to do so. When they had, they paid Mr Fortescue, and made a leisurely stroll back to the gateway, which opened for them like an automatic door.

"Maybe you just have to use a wand to get in." Suggested her father.

They soon made there way back to the car, only to find that they had been given two parking tickets: one for parking on a double yellow line, and the other for staying for 5 hours in a 3 hour zone. Her father was not happy by this point, and Hermione and her mother decided just to stay quiet. The journey home was quite uneventful. And when the got home, and had unloaded all of Hermione's school stuff into her room, Hermione threw herself onto the bed. Cradling her wand in her hands.

"Well that was an interesting day." She said to herself. A small smile unfolded on her lips. "Very interesting."


End file.
